Angels Are Watching Over You
by melodyofponds
Summary: ALSO INCLUDES DOCTOR WHO IN CROSSOVER STATUS Dean Winchester was four years old when a monster under the bed - something he's spent a lot of time not believing in - took away his mother. Now he has all new problems to deal with - like a time machine and a man who can tell him what he had for breakfast that morning by looking at his shoes.
1. Goodbye Alaska

**Goodbye Alaska**

Dean Winchester stood outside his flaming house, holding his baby brother, and watching his father try not to cry. Sammy squirmed slightly in his arms, but hadn't made a sound all night, not since Dean had run into his brother's room to find – well, at least what he _thought_ he had found – his mother attached to the ceiling, and fire – everywhere. He remembered going to Alaska for Christmas last year – they had a house at Lliamna Lake – when he had accidently fallen through the ice. He hadn't been able to swim at that point in time, and as his father had hurriedly pulled him out of the frosty water, bundling him up in his own jumper and carrying him inside, where his Mom gave him a hot cup of hot chocolate and put him in front of the fire. Sam hadn't been born them, and the three of them sat on the carpet, warming themselves up, and when it was time for Dean to go to bed, his Mom had read him a book until he fell asleep. This was nothing like that fire. That fire had been nice, and Dean had always assumed that that was all there was in the world – his Mom, his Dad, and, ever since six months ago, his little brother – all one big happy family who went to Alaska for New Years. This fire was like all of his worst nightmares put together. The heat was like nothing he had ever known, not even when his Mom served his dinner right out of the oven and he burnt his tongue, or when, in November, when it was just getting cold, he had burnt his hand on a baking tray making cookies with his Dad. His Mom wasn't here. Dean knew, because he had searched the crowd a thousand times. He never even saw her come out of the house, and looking at his Dad, and the look on his face that Dean thought made it look like he might have just died, he guessed she wasn't going to either. Although he didn't quite understand what had happened, he knew, Dean knew, that nothing was ever going to be like that nice family trip to Lliamna Lake ever again. Dean felt tears well up inside him, but shoved them back down. He looked over to his father, who was being talked at by a police officer. He saw his Dad's lips move, but heard no sound come out – even though his father wasn't that far away from him. His Dad was usually loud and playful, or at least had a smile on his face. The only time he had ever seen his father not at least smiling a little bit was when he had accidently dropped a vase on the floor, and it had smashed all over the place. His Dad had been okay, though, after Dean had apologized for what he had done. The look on his father's face now made it look like he would never be okay again, like all the vases in the house had been broken all at once. He still wasn't crying though. Dean suppressed his sadness. If his Dad could be brave, so could he. He looked down at Sammy, who was lying still in his arms now. "It's okay, Sammy." He whispers, and looks back up at his Dad, who was now walking towards the two of them slowly. The police officers he had been talking to a moment ago were murmuring between themselves now, walking back to their police car. He looked up to Sammy's old bedroom, which he used to look out of and watch all the neighborhood kids playing while he himself was holding Sam. It now blazed with golden light, which the firemen were barely containing. Dean didn't think he really wanted to be a fireman anymore.

"Hey, kids." Their father says as he reaches Dean, slightly sadly, but trying to keep his voice light nonetheless. He kneels down, kisses Dean on the head, and takes Sam from Dean, cradling him in new arms. Dean stepped back slightly, and felt their car, an old 1967 Chevrolet Impala (Dean had never really liked the car – he thought it was old – but his father seemed to like it). Dean looked up at his father, who turned back to him – he had been watching firefighters spray Sammy's window with a jet of water that seemed to Dean to be doing not very much at all – and nodded at his son a little. Dean nearly grinned, and pulled himself up onto the hood of the car. His Dad never let him do this. Their father turned back to the window, just in time to see a burst of fire, a small explosion that almost made Dean jump, and his Daddy cradle Sam just a little bit tighter. Dean Winchester stood outside his flaming house, holding his baby brother, and watching his father try not to cry. Sammy squirmed slightly in his arms, but hadn't made a sound all night, not since Dean had run into his brother's room to find – well, at least what he _thought_ he had found – his mother attached to the ceiling, and fire – everywhere. He remembered going to Alaska for Christmas last year – they had a house at Lliamna Lake – when he had accidently fallen through the ice. He hadn't been able to swim at that point in time, and as his father had hurriedly pulled him out of the frosty water, bundling him up in his own jumper and carrying him inside, where his Mom gave him a hot cup of hot chocolate and put him in front of the fire. Sam hadn't been born them, and the three of them sat on the carpet, warming themselves up, and when it was time for Dean to go to bed, his Mom had read him a book until he fell asleep.

This was nothing like that fire. That fire had been nice, and Dean had always assumed that that was all there was in the world – his Mom, his Dad, and, ever since six months ago, his little brother – all one big happy family who went to Alaska for New Years. This fire was like all of his worst nightmares put together. The heat was like nothing he had ever known, not even when his Mom served his dinner right out of the oven and he burnt his tongue, or when, in November, when it was just getting cold, he had burnt his hand on a baking tray making cookies with his Dad.

His Mom wasn't here. Dean knew, because he had searched the crowd a thousand times. He never saw her come out of the house, and looking at his Dad, and the look on his face that Dean thought made it look like he might have just died, he guessed she wasn't going to either. Although he didn't quite understand what had happened, he knew, Dean knew, that nothing was ever going to be like that nice family trip to Lliamna Lake ever again.

Dean felt tears well up inside him, but shoved them back down. He looked over to his father, who was being talked at by a police officer. He saw his Dad's lips move, but heard no sound come out – even though his father wasn't that far away from him. His Dad was usually loud and playful, or at least had a smile on his face. The only time he had ever seen his father not at least smiling a little bit was when he had accidently dropped a vase on the floor, and it had smashed all over the place. His Dad had been okay, though, after Dean had apologized for what he had done. The look on his father's face now made it look like he would never be okay again, like all the vases in the house had been broken all at once. He still wasn't crying though. Dean suppressed his sadness. If his Dad could be brave, so could he. He looked down at Sammy, who was lying still in his arms now.

"It's okay, Sammy." He whispers, and looks back up at his Dad, who was now walking towards the two of them slowly. The police officers he had been talking to a moment ago were murmuring between themselves now, walking back to their police car. He looked up to Sammy's old bedroom, which he used to look out of and watch all the neighborhood kids playing while he himself was holding Sam. It now blazed with golden light, which the firemen were barely containing. Dean didn't think he really wanted to be a fireman anymore.

"Hey, kids." Their father says as he reaches Dean, slightly sadly, but trying to keep his voice light nonetheless. He kneels down, kisses Dean on the head, and takes Sam from Dean, cradling him in new arms. Dean stepped back slightly, and felt their car, an old 1967 Chevrolet Impala (Dean had never really liked the car – he thought it was old – but his father seemed to like it). Dean looked up at his father, who turned back to him – he had been watching firefighters spray Sammy's window with a jet of water that seemed to Dean to be doing not very much at all – and nodded at his son a little. Dean nearly grinned, and pulled himself up onto the hood of the car. His Dad never let him do this. Their father turned back to the window, just in time to see a burst of fire, a small explosion that almost made Dean jump, and his Daddy cradle Sam just a little bit tighter.


	2. Lost

**Lost**

When Dean woke up in the car eight hours later, it wasn't the hum of the engine that had woken him up. _Cold As Ice _by The Foreigners was blaring out of the car speakers, enveloping the entire car in what appeared to be pure noise. Sammy was crying in the backseat; it had woken him up too. Dean looked over to his father, who was gripping the steering wheel a little weakly – apparently no one had said sorry for all the broken vases yet. Dean wondered if he would ever be okay. He still didn't understand why their Mommy was never going to be coming back yet, but hadn't quite found the right time to ask; it never seemed quite appropriate to bring it up.

What was appropriate to bring up right now, however, was the monumental volume of the car radio.

"Dad." Said Dean, and received no response. To be honest, he could barely hear himself speak. "DAD!" he yelled, and his father turned around to face him with a look of slight surprise on his face, and turned the radio down as he flicked his head between his son and the road. The car swerved slightly, and their Dad yanked the wheel right as the car straightened itself out.

"Yeah, buddy, what is it?" he asked, fully concentrated on the road now.

"You woke up Sammy." Dean whispered. His father looked at him for a second, smiling sadly, and pulled over to the side of the road. Dean watched as his father unbuckled his seatbelt, turning the car (and the music) off as he did so. Dean knew that he should probably get out of the car too, and lugged himself out of his seat, walking over to his father's side of the car, where his Dad was holding Sammy, rocking him gently back and forth. He stood next to his father, who was staring into the woods, which framed the side of the road for as long as the eye could see. Dean knew that they would end eventually, but he didn't know if it would feel like that if he were stuck right in the middle of them. Looking over at his father, whispering soft words to his baby brother, Dean had an idea that his Dad knew exactly what it felt like.

"Dad," Dean asked again, and this time, with nothing but a slightly awkward silence between them, his father looked at him in response right away, his eyebrows slightly raised as he rocked Sammy back to sleep. "Where are we going?"


	3. A New Tomorrow

**A New Tomorrow**

Sherlock Holmes lay on the sofa, staring up at the roof of his apartment. He was also muttering under his breath. "Salt… Stic… No. Pencils? No. Hmm…" John heard as he sat at his computer, trying to work out if there was ever going to be a possible way to turn that into writing. Night had fallen on England, and not even the sounds of Mrs. Hudson doing the dishes or making tea could be heard through the floorboards. John wondered if perhaps he should head home now; Mary would be waiting for him. He could imagine the smell of her skin beneath the sheets, private little thoughts entering his mind as he sat waiting for Sherlock to do something…. The phone rang. Both John and Sherlock were instantly snapped out of their thoughts, and stared towards the phone that lay on the coffee table between them. It was John's phone, so random people calling them wouldn't have been a problem for either of them… except it was nearly midnight, and both of the two men knew that John didn't know anyone reckless enough to be up so far past their bedtimes. Sherlock didn't move a muscle as John stood up from his seat and walked forward to the phone. He looked at the screen for a few seconds, and Sherlock watched as a look of understanding and surprise came over his face. Maybe John did know someone who wasn't so respectable… "John." John said, and Sherlock looked up in mild surprise. Another John? Who… And then it struck him. Him. Sherlock sat up on the sofa, his fingertips still pressed together, but for different reasons. He wasn't paying attention to the amount of pressure being applied to his fingers, though. He was listening to one half of what could be a very important phone conversation indeed. "Um… Yeah? I guess? What… what… WHAT?! Oh I'm so sorry John… yes of course… Who?" Sherlock zoned out slightly. He noticed the tenseness of John's hands mixed with the disbelief and worry on his face and… of course she was dead. He should have seen it coming, after everything Mary had confided in him over the years. It could be so much worse than that though. Whatever had killed Mary, demon, angel… vampire? Whatever it was, it was going to come after the rest of them next… and the Winchesters couldn't be lost, or even Sherlock knew that the whole world would go to hell. Why where they calling _them_ though? After the issue in Baltimore… "SHERLOCK!" The sound of John… _his_ John's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and it was then that Sherlock noticed that the conversation was over and the phone had been put away. "She's…" "I know." Interrupted Sherlock. "She's dead." John sighed and shook his head, either at the fact that she was gone, or that Sherlock and his 'annoying' qualities had burst into the evening again. Sherlock stood up now, and began to pace. John stared at him; not even bothering to fathom what was going on inside that mind. He knew he was probably as much of a simple-minded person as Sherlock always seemed to think he was, but it didn't matter that much anyway; no doubt Sherlock was going to tell him exactly what was going on in that mind of his soon enough anyway. And then Sherlock stopped. And turned around, looking directly at the phone on the table. "John." He said, and John looked up at him. "We have to… Call _him_, don't we?" "Will it reach him?" Said John, his face displaying slight shock at the thought of what Sherlock was suggesting, but his voice – and the fact that his hands were completely calm against his leg – told Sherlock John knew it was perfectly reasonable. "It reached him last time, John, why would he change. There's no logical reason. He knows we need him. Don't be stupid." "Alright, I get it. You don't _always_ have to be so rude, you know." John said, sighing, getting slowly more and more tired as tomorrow inched closer and closer. Sherlock, as per usual, paid no attention. He flopped back down onto the sofa, the phone again almost exactly in between the two men. Sherlock could see from how tense John had gotten in the past five seconds that he was probably thinking the same thing he was. Who was going to make the call? Sherlock stood up, and walked to the corner of the room, staring at the web of a crime map he had strung up on the wall, full of people, places, and yes, pencils. He sighed a little, and turned back to John. "Well, you are the mature one. _I _couldn't _possibly_ do it." John took a far deeper sigh, and looked up at the back of Sherlock's curly head.

"Well, we better get this over with…" he nearly mumbled, and, rather apprehensively, Sherlock noted, reached for the phone.


	4. Broken Wings

**Broken wings**

Dean watched his father put down the phone, and drop it onto the bed. He didn't really think that it counted as _his _bed, because he was pretty sure his Daddy would never sleep _here_ if he had any other option. Dean didn't know who he was talking to, but it was either someone else called John or himself. Thinking back to his father pretending Sammy's _spoon _was an_aeroplane _(really, Dean would've never fallen for that kind of thing when _he _was Sammy's age), he had a sneaking suspicion his Dad was probably crazy enough to talk to himself. He watched as his dad sat down on the end of the bed, and covered his face with his hands, leaning back until he hit the bed with a soft thump. And then he shook. His whole body, in what Dean was sure was a sob. Dean sunk down further into his covers, not sure what to do but too afraid to lean out and say something.

It was funny, because Sammy was always the one who was crying. And as the truth began to dawn on little Dean, that his Mommy really was never going to tuck him in and tell him angels were watching over him again, little Dean began to cry.


	5. Sound The Alarm

**Sound the Alarm**

Amy Pond rolled out of bed at what her alarm clock said was 8:30 AM, but, due to the fact that she was stuck inside a police box that was bigger on the inside and stuck in a swirling vortex of energy that would take her through time, was probably absolutely nowhere near 8:30. Her husband, Rory Williams, was still asleep – she was beginning to think that boy really could sleep through just about everything. As her feet touched the ground of the Doctor's TARDIS, and a cold feeling that made her wish she had stayed in bed crept up her legs, she heard a sound – something that, if she wasn't stuck inside a very securely locked box would've made her quite scared; the sound of many small elephants bounding up a flight of stairs in the most uncoordinated fashion possible towards her bedroom. Amy smiled to herself. The Doctor ran into the room, a glass of orange juice in one hand and a box of cornflakes in the other. Amy turned around, pulling on her dressing gown, her red hair whipping through the air in the overenthusiastic way that Amy always hated. With the biggest smile possible on his face, the Doctor handed her the orange juice, put the cereal on the floor, and yelled at the top of his lungs; "HAPPY RE-RE-RE-RE-INVASION DAY!" Amy laughed – even though she had (as per usual) no idea what the Doctor was talking about – and hugged her Doctor, receiving the hug in return. The Doctor looked at the floor then, puzzled, and all energy drained from his face. Amy felt her own face fall, and suddenly wondered if perhaps the time travelling blue box wasn't as secure as she thought… were there such things as space elephants? "I forgot the milk." The Doctor said quietly, pecked her on the forehead, and, taking the cereal with him, wandered out of the room. Amy giggled as he left, and, noticing that somehow Rory _still_ hadn't woken up, knelt down and peeled the covers off her husband just enough to allow her to tickle him on the bottom of his foot, which was just about the only place where he was ticklish. Mid-snore, Rory burst into half-awakened giggles and lurched his foot back away from Amy, who watched as his two green eyes peeled themselves open and gave her the little abandoned puppy look that Amy couldn't help but fall in love with. "You woke me up." He groaned sleepily, but didn't try to go back to sleep. Amy had a sneaking suspicion he had given up on that idea long ago. She watched as he pulled himself out of bed and pulled his own dressing gown on, before sleepily wandering over to her, giving her a peck on the lips, and taking a sip from the glass of orange juice still in her hand. She giggled at that, too, as Rory turned around and stretched his arms above his head. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist in response, resting her head on his back and closing her eyes. "What time is it?" He said, as he rubbed the back of her hand. "3 in the morning." She replied cheekily, and Rory smiled sleepily, brushing hair from his face. "I need a haircut." "You're on a time machine at every single existing moment, and your one comment of the day is that you need a haircut?" Suddenly, the Doctor's voice spread throughout the whole room, making them both jump back away from each other in surprise, looking around to try and work out where the noise was coming from. Rory identified a small intercom speaker attached to the wall by their door, and Amy made a mental note to investigate their room for anything else the Doctor had decided to upgrade it with. "Hurry up, you lovey-dovey love birds. We're going to miss the celebrations. Oh – and wear a jumper." The voice said, and Rory groaned. "One sip of orange juice and we're off to explore planets again. Does it ever stop?" he asked, but the smile on his face told Amy that he didn't r_eally_ want it to. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. The two of them ran down the steps together, Amy attempting to take the steps two at a time, Rory not quite awake enough to bound down with quite the same enthusiasm. Right. Right. Left. Down a corridor. And then a door, bright lights, and the console room, whirling with colours and filled with too many buttons to even try to work them all out. And it was empty. "Doctor?" Amy called out. Her voice echoed around the room into all the nooks and crannies of the TARDIS (of which there were many) but no reply came. Amy looked at Rory, who was awake enough to look confused, before slipping her hand from his and running down the stairs onto the console room floor. She ran over to the left hand side and peered down the stair-case to where a jumble of wires sprouted from beneath the console. She looked back up at Rory, who was descending the stairs towards her, and shook her head. He wasn't there. "Where is he?" Rory asked as his hand trailed over the side of the TARDIS console towards her. She shook her head and looked up from the staircase going down back to him. "I have no idea. He was…" she starts, but then stops halfway. What was that? Amy turns around, and walks over to a staircase that leads upwards, back into the maze of rooms contained in the TARDIS. Rory looks at her, his head slightly tilted to one side – he didn't hear it. But it sounded like… "Amy! Rory! Have you seen my hat?" Came a voice from the other side of the room. Amy wheeled around, looking towards a small door that she hadn't seen before in the opposite wall. The Doctor, dragging behind him what appeared to be a blanket, stumbled through the door, putting one foot more or less in front of each other. "Doctor, what…" Amy started, utterly baffled by everything that was happening in front of her. What on earth _were_ they going to do today? "Amy. This is a very important blanket. It is a blanket of great importance and we cannot lose it because it is very important. Do you understand?" He asked, stopping in front of her and dropping the blanket at her feet. "Uh…" she began, and the Doctor clapped his hands together, a smile across his face. "Excellent!" He cried and wheeled himself around on one foot, before striding across the console room towards the actual control panel. He pressed a button, and the Control Column's great pieces started to slow down. Another day, another adventure. Somewhere in the depths of a room nearby, a phone rang. The Doctor looked up from the console, his face unreadable. He glanced towards the corridor that Amy and Rory and ran through to get here, and raised an eyebrow. As the sound of the TARDIS materialising began and ended, he spun away from the console and up a twisting flight of stairs into the corridor. The couple still left in the room took one look at each other, and ran after him. "Doctor!" Rory called as they turned a corner after the swish of a coat. The Doctor was striding along the corridor towards what appeared to be a supply cupboard at the end of the corridor. As Amy and Rory caught up to him, he stopped at the door and pulled out a key from one of the pockets in his jacket. Fitting it into the lock, he opened the door to reveal… A large jumble of wires, and, right in the middle of them, a table with a phone on it; a _ringing _phone. The Doctor strode forwards and picked up the phone, smacking it against his ear as he fiddled with the end of a broken wire – that luckily didn't appear to be live. "John!" He said happily. Amy and Rory shared another glance, this time a puzzled look spreading across their faces. "Yes…" The Doctor continued, and Amy heard the happy tone in his voice falter. "Oh. John? Mary? Really? Okay, well… Fine! Fine!" The Doctor stopped his conversation suddenly and slammed the phone onto its holder. He spun around slightly angrily, but as he caught sight of Amy and Rory, a slightly nervous smile crept upon his face. "Uh… change of plans. You're not going to need those jumpers."

*The Control Column is known as the Time Rotor, however this name is false. The Time Rotor was first mentioned in the episode _The Chase_ and was located as a unit next to the door switch. In _The Edge of Destruction_, the central column was merely named the Control Column, though the Fandom does not identify the name to the object.


	6. Things That Go Bump In The Night

**Things That Go Bump In The Night**

Dean sat on a swing in a park. There were other kids playing there, and one or two had even come up to talk to him. Dean didn't feel like playing. Dean didn't know what he felt like doing, but he _did_ know he wanted his Mommy back. Dean also knew, however, that that probably wasn't going to be possible. He sighed a little as he sat there, his hair (which his Mom had always said was far too long for his own good) flipped about in the wind, falling in his eyes and becoming knotty, but Dean didn't particularly care. Over the other side of the playground, his Dad sat on a bench, feeding Sammy out of a bottle. Dean thought about Sammy; he remembered the first time he had come home from the hospital, the first time Dean had heard him cry. He remembered his Mom telling him where to put his arms so that that Sammy's head was supported. "No," She had giggled, "There. Like that. Now his head won't fall." Dean could remember her voice perfectly. He could remember her face perfectly. He could remember everything about her perfectly. And it was impossible to believe that she was never coming back. What was it that had happened that night in Sammy's bedroom? Dean had always been told not to play with matches, or he might burn himself. Dean didn't think there was that much in his little brother's room that could be used to set fire to something. It was all very safe in there – even the cupboards had special locks on them._Maybe there was something in our house that did it, _Dean thought to himself, and shuddered. _Maybe someone else started the fire. Maybe… _"Dean." Dean looked up. His Dad stood in front of him. Sammy was in his arms, asleep. Dean looked at the bag on his Dad's shoulder. Everything was packed up. It was time to go. Neither Dean nor his father talked on the way back to their car. Dean didn't know where they were going to go now, but it was probably back to another hotel with another funny smell and some more strange stains on the bed sheets. Dean wondered why his Dad didn't take them someplace else. All the other kids at his kindergarten had grandparents that they would go and see. Even though his mum and dad had never talked about them, Dean was sure they were there. Why didn't they go and see _them_? Surely his Dad would have called them by now to tell them that his Mommy wasn't going to be able to see them anymore. Dean opened the car door and lowered himself in, listening to his father trying to get Sam into the car without waking him up as he put on his seatbelt. He didn't look at his Dad as he himself got into the car, buckled himself up and turned on the car. Another loud song blare out of the speakers, but Dean was used to it by now. And then his Dad spoke. "Dean." He said, and Dean looked up at him. "We're going to go… and see some friends." His father said, not taking his eyes of the road. "I know you've been asking me for a while if we can go on a holiday, and now we just might be able to." "Why?" Asked Dean impatiently, before his father could reply. "Because these friends of mine… they live rather far away. In South Dakota." "_South Dakota?" _Asked Dean. Two days beforehand, they had arrived in Texas – over the other side of the country and, as far as Dean was concerned, forever away. "… Yes. It's going to be a long drive." Dean slumped a little in his seat. By the sounds of things, they weren't going to be stopping off at hotels on the way there, like they had when they had slowly wound their way out of Kansas and across Oklahoma. Dean didn't understand why they had done that. He had tried to ask his Dad where they were going, or why, but whenever he asked, his Dad just said that they were going 'away' and that it was nothing for him to worry about. Dean stared out the window as they drove, passing an ice-cream parlor where kids were with their parents, looking happy, with whole families who knew where they were going and didn't have to worry about anything. Dean could remember when he would go and get ice cream with _his_ Mom and Dad. He never thought anything would change. Two hours later; Dean woke up, his head cushioned against the window. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the lack of noise. There was still music on, but it was down low enough that Dean could barely hear it. The sound of the car itself was threatening to drown it out, and Dean wondered why his father would turn it down. He looked over to where his father was, eyes concentrated fully on the road, an almost aggressive look on his face. He didn't seem to have realized that Dean was awake. Dean noticed his lips moving, but not quite in time with the song like they would be if he was singing along under his breath. Dean didn't say anything as they kept driving, didn't even look at his father. He didn't know what was wrong, but he looked cross, and Dean didn't want to talk to him when he was cross. Had he done something wrong? Should he perhaps have not asked to go to the candy store back in Wichita Falls? Dean turned his head away and stared out the window, not knowing what was wrong or how to fix it. He watched farm houses go by, some of their lights still on, some bathed in darkness as they sped past. There were no other cars on the road, and it was almost lonely, but Dean didn't mind. It was peaceful here, like it never seemed to be wherever they went. There was always noise, and bright lights, and people asking if he was okay, if he would like to come and play or if he wanted a mint. He never liked hotel mints. Out of the corner of his eye; Dean saw a flash of red, and what looked like a body on the side of the road. A noise that sounded like a strangled scream escaped him. The car swerved to the right suddenly, and then rolled to the side of the road and stopped. He looked over at his father, who was staring at him with a kind of disbelief Dean had never seen before on his father's face. "Dean!" He spat, and then quieter. "You're awake."

"Daddy," Dean whispered. He was shaking. Had he just seen what he thought he had? "There was something back there."


	7. Frosty

**Frosty**

"Well that sounded like a particularly enjoyable conversation." Said Sherlock dryly as John slammed down his mobile phone. He watched as John took a deep breath out, calming himself. Sherlock watched him, wondering if those certain traits of the war would ever leave his best friend. John looked up then, seemingly calm, and walked back over to the couch. He didn't sit though. Sherlock knew instantly that John was intending to leave. He had been meaning to for hours, had just called someone he clearly did not enjoy talking to, and was now refusing to relax into the flat in any way, shape or form. "John." Sherlock started, but instead of answering, John flipped his head up, giving him a steely look. Sherlock momentarily folded away into silence, but then, seeing as John was going to leave whether or not he said anything, decided to bring it out into the open. "I hope you are aware that when they get here, it's going to be like this all the time." Sherlock said, noticing John's tense shoulders. "I know, Sherlock!" John spat, and wheeled around to face the wall, looking as though he wanted to make a hole in it. John didn't understand where he had gone wrong with the Doctor. Everything had been fine with them, until of course, the issue in Baltimore. The more John thought about it, the more John loved his current life, without the constant issues of monsters and time travel to have to deal with on top of… well, on top of Sherlock. At the same time, he completely understood that they needed help. He was just going to have to deal with his problems for a while. "I'm going, Sherlock." Said John angrily. He needed to get out, to go for a walk and forget about the conversation on the phone and everything else that had happened, and was going to. He needed to not know that everything was going to go to shit, probably within the next few days, and that everything was going to be upside down and inside out at the end of it. He needed to not be John for a few seconds. Sherlock had no reaction. The leaving of John, whilst leaving him without someone to talk to (or at, Sherlock found most of the time), also meant he could actually think, completely unburdened by the stupidity all other life forms seemed to carry in with them. "Don't wake up Mrs. Hudson." He said simply, and John sighed. Sometimes, he just wished Sherlock had the ability to feel something other than up himself. He shook his head. He should be used to it by now. John walked out of the apartment, and down the stairs. He walked as quietly as he could past Mrs. Hudson's room, as Sherlock had requested; the TV was on in her apartment, but due to the time there was no way that she was still awake. John considered going in there and switching the TV off, maybe taking her teacup into the kitchen, but thought against it. As much as he adored Mrs. Hudson, he didn't want to wake her up, and the ability to 'not be John' required as little thoughts about Sherlock as possible. He walked out the front door into the icy night. It was coming around to winter in London, and the air got colder and colder every day. John partially wished that that was not what England was like; that maybe one day he could go to Australia, or spend a little more time in America, where it was warm so much more often. At the same time, he didn't particularly mind London; it was where he had grown up, it had been the home to come back to after the war. He walked down Baker Street. There were only a few people still out this late; at the end of the road, there was a bar. He could hear the music still playing, and could tell that there were enough people in there for it to be overly rowdy. He walked over the old pavements, past ancient buildings. It was all very peaceful, but at the same time, it was also quite monotonous. He really wouldn't mind a trip back to America. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad this time after all. "Excuse me, sir!" John stopped. He turned around, and saw a medium-heighted girl with _very_ red hair and a skirt that was far too short for this kind of whether standing on the street opposite him. John looked around him; there was no one else she could possibly be talking to. He sighed, looked along the road both ways, and jogged over to where the girl was standing. She smiled at him; he thought he might have seen that smile before, though he had no idea where. "I was just wondering," she continued, the smile still plastered on her face. "Have you seen… well, I know this might seem a little strange, but have you seen a police box?" John realized immediately where he had seen the girl before. His vague smile, which had previously been getting slowly more and more comfortable on his face as the girl stuttered her way along her sentence, dropped immediately. The girl saw it too, and looked him up and down, a look of curiosity mixed with slight disappointment wandering over her eyes. "Oh." They both said at once. There was an awkward pause while they stared at each other, before a man walked up to them. He had short blonde hair, was about the same age as the girl, and wore a sweater – much like the one John himself was wearing. He seemed slightly nervous. "Have you found it yet, Amy?" he asked, and the Amy, who John now assumed to be the girl, pulled her gaze away from John and onto the boy. "Uh…" She started, and John could see what she was trying to say. As much as he didn't want to walk right into this, as much as this little trip of his had been aimed at trying to get away from this, he stuck out his hand towards the man, who looked down at it in surprise. "I'm John. John Watson." A look of surprise came onto the man's face. He glanced between John and Amy and back again, as though trying to work out if what he was thinking was the right thing. Amy gave him a small nod of approval and a nervous grin, and Rory looked back at John, giving him a once over with his eyes, just like Amy had. "Hi." He said, and grasped John's hand, on the weak side of strong, and shook it. "I'm… I'm Rory Williams. This is my wife. Amy." He said, a look of disbelief still plastered on his face. "Hi. Watch out, the wind changes frequently." John joked, motioning to the look on both their faces. The smiled a little, looking awkward and not a little shocked, before John said, "Look, I haven't seen… it, but… well, if you're lost… well… would you like to…" "Amy! Rory! Where have you _been?" _a voice seemed to bound down the street, and all three of them turned to look down Baker street, down which was running a thin man with floppy, brown hair strung over one eye, the rest on the other side seemingly shorter and tucked behind his ear. He was wearing a tweed jacket, black pants with a belt, a white button-down shirt and… a bow tie? As he came running up, John saw him pull out what seemed to be a torch, but the light appeared to be green. "I have found the most _amazing_ thing! I told you we had to go and find Sherlock, but I figured, well, why not try and find you two a jumper or something! It's awful cold out here, and…." Amy, Rory, and John were all still staring at each other, probably trying to work out what on earth they were meant to do as the strange man babbled on about jumpers and the fact that for _some_ reason all the shops were closed. "I'm not entirely sure why they would do that – I mean, what would happen if…" "Doctor." Rory said, apparently trying to get the man's attention. At the word 'Doctor', Rory's heart sank. He looked towards the strange man. Him? The Doctor? There was no way that _that_ man, who looked as though he was about to pull out something even more ridiculous – like a skateboard or something- and wear it as a suit could possibly be the man he had met in America. "Doctor!" Rory and Amy both yelled this time. The man stopped talking and stared at the two of them… and then at John. He knelt down (he was a little taller than John) to look him in the eye, and squinted. "John?" he asked, slightly surprised. John sighed. Although he couldn't believe that _this_ was the Doctor, the man seemed to think he _was _the Doctor, and let's face it, the old one never was completely sane. John held up a hand, saying hi. Why did this always have to happen to him… There was a buzzing in John's pocket; his phone. John tugged his eyes away from the trio standing, slightly bewildered, in front of him, and pressed the call button. "John!" it was Mary. John groaned. "John?" she asked, sounding concerned at his groan. "No, it's not you… um… Sherlock did something. Listen, I've got something to…" "John, I have some urgent news. I'm sorry, but it really is important." She interrupted. John groaned again (inwardly this time). If Mary was resorting to butting in, it really must be important. John had enough to deal with. It was probably something to do with John's parents (he had been planning on going to visit them a few weeks later – they never did seem particularly happy to see him). "A man called… he said he saw you in your office a few weeks ago? Hold on, I've got the file somewhere… Ah! Here it is! Something about her – oh! Never mind…" she faltered slightly. A confused look spread across John's face. He didn't remember meeting with that man, but if she was reading off the file, there was no way it could be made up. "Mary, what was his name?" he asked. As he listened to Mary reading something out off of a piece of paper – something that sounded _Swedish_, of all things, he looked back at the other three on the pavement. The Doctor had his eyebrows raised; clearly both of them were aware that Mary was, in this case only, slightly less important than the current issue at hand. John sighed. He loved Mary, but there was no denying it; there was only one way he was ever going to get out of this whole ordeal alive. "I'm sorry, Mary, I have to go, I…" He began, and heard Mary's voice falter, almost with a tinge of disappointment and sadness. "Oh, okay, John." She said. John couldn't tell whether or not she sounded offended. "Bye then. Remember to call him back though. He sounded as though it was ever so important." John heard a click on the other end of the phone; she had hung up. He sighed, and pressed a button on his own phone to cancel the call. He looked up at the Doctor again, who had his hands clasped together in anticipation.

"Well then." The Doctor said, clapping his hands back into the same position. "I guess this is a nice way to start."


End file.
